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Feels like I am finding my footing... A testimony.

It’s been a while, and I’m not even sure where to start the update, but I guess, like every normal person, I should probably start with a greeting? Hi, how have you been?.... Yeah, that doesn’t sound natural even to me as I’m writing this. Oh well, let’s not do that again! So, allow me to fire off honorable mentions of updates before I get to my point today. I survived the year of chaos, I graduated, completed my pageant reign, checked two other things off my bucket list, and I guess, in small and simple words, I finally found my footing with God. And in more expanded terms, that is what today’s post is about. God. And my relationship with Him. A small testimony, if you will. While I don’t think I have ever really been too far away from God, for a girl who was born into a family of believers, I had to find God myself, in my own complicatedly simple way. But through the rollercoaster of it all, God is good! While starting from ninth grade might be too long of a story for one post,...
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Why am I doing this?

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 One of the most profound, and perhaps saddest, realizations I’ve had growing up is the shift from the question “What did you do about it?” to “Why bother?” I believe I have always been an advocate, even before I had the language for it. If I trace the origins of that identity, I find it scattered across the quiet but powerful influences that shaped me; my parents, my teachers, the Sabbath school stories that taught me what it means to be human. They taught me to speak up against bullies, which later became my love for advocacy and poetry; to stand against injustice, which grew into my passion for the law; to show up for people, which shaped me into a mentor and, despite my attempts at being “ cool and mysterious ,” to be someone my friends would call warm and bubbly. They also taught me to forgive, though that is a lesson I am still learning. If I had to distill all of those lessons into one recurring idea, it would be this: I grew up being faced with one question, again and aga...
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Protecting the Weaker Sex

Allow me to use very Gen Z language for a second:  I was today years old when I realized that for some (perhaps many) people (particularly men ) special acknowledgment of Violence Against Women and Girls (VAWG) is framed as “protecting the weaker sex.” If you read between the lines, what this often means is this: VAWG is given special attention not because of structural injustice, but because women are perceived as physically weaker and therefore in need of extra protection. And what struck me most? This reasoning sometimes comes from highly educated, pro–women’s rights men. At first glance, you might think: the wording is uncomfortable, but maybe they’re not entirely wrong. Allow me to challenge that. Recently, I asked my 15-year-old sister a question: “Why do we say gender-based violence or violence against women and girls? After all, violence affects everyone. Women are human. Why single them out?” She responded: “It’s not just about the violence. It’s about misogyny and society...
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The Confession of Miss Sunshine

There is something so inherently taxing about being a woman. Or maybe that is just my period talking. Yes, I said that out loud. Publicly. As if it is some radical act to acknowledge the simple biology of existing in a female body. I have never understood why we are made to whisper about something that visits us every month like a recurring storm. One week out of four. One quarter of our lives. And emotionally? Let’s just say I was not surprised to discover that there are barely two weeks in a cycle where a woman truly feels like herself, balanced, clear, steady. Imagine living in a body that feels like it is negotiating with you half the time. Half the time. That is not poetic exaggeration; that is arithmetic. If you are a girl reading this, consider this your validation. If you are a man, thank you for trying to imagine it. But trust me, it is heavier than imagination allows. Still, this is not really about periods. Or even about womanhood. This is about a confession. I am tired. Not...
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Reconciling Feminism, Patriarchy, and My Faith

What does it mean to be a feminist as a Christian woman? I want to preface this by saying two things: First, I believe that every Christian who genuinely seeks to understand the word of God, to some extent, embodies feminist principles. Second, no matter where I am in life or where I go, I will always be deeply grateful to feminism and the feminist community. The sense of sisterhood and empowerment it gave me has profoundly shaped who I am in a unique and beautiful way. With that in mind, I find myself grappling with a challenging realization: I stand at a crossroads where both patriarchy and feminism have, in their own ways, sown seeds of disillusionment toward men. Whether it’s the poor logic and judgment of misogynistic, patriarchal figures in my life or the growing reality of how men mistreat women—coupled with the idea that change is improbable and the narrative that good men are rare—both have led me to wrestle with an uncomfortable discontent. Yet, amidst this confusion, I hold ...
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Because I too am a human being.

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 "I do not wish to be protected, I wish to not need protection!" The recent news of yet another woman—a mother—enduring unspeakable brutality in the name of culture and tradition left me in shock. If you haven’t heard, this woman now lies in critical condition after being publicly beaten by her husband, an act sanctioned by community elders. Tied to a tree like an animal, she was brutalized in front of her children and neighbors—people she once trusted—all because she refused to return to her abusive, addict husband. A man trained by the military, he beat her mercilessly, and not a single person stepped in to stop him. Time and again, I hear "culture" used as an excuse whenever I demand basic human rights for women. But after hearing this story, I had to pause and reconsider its meaning. The dictionary says culture refers to the shared beliefs, values, and customs that define a society. Is this what we believe in? Is this the behavior that defines us? Have we become...
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No More!

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Trigger Warning This post discusses sensitive topics including assault, abuse, and trauma. If you or someone you know may be affected by these issues, please take care of yourself while reading. It’s okay to step away if you need to. When will it be enough?  When I was four years old, the mentally ill brother of the owner of the house we rented dragged me into a storage room while I was on my way to the toilet. He pulled out his penis and asked me to "show him mine because he showed me his". It was terrifying, by some miracle the wife, his sister-in-law, unexpectedly opened the storage room, and I survived. She instructed me not to say anything and to ignore him because he was ill. I didn't understand what happened, and I was even more clueless of what could have happened.  All I knew was for my four year old brain seeing the male genitalia was traumatizing. So I did what every child does, I cried to my parents when they came home, completely forgetting the warning I was...
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